The Redemption Games
by my.name.is.mary
Summary: The night is dull, there's no breeze and the stars remain unseen upon the skies. There are no sounds, no lights, nothing but the passing of minutes that go by as silent as if they don't even exist..."Embrace the New Regimen."
1. The New Regimen

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series; all you recognize belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

**A/N: So, after watching the first Hunger Games film and finding out it was a book adaptation, I decided to read the series. Needless to say I loved it, and decided on trying a fan-fiction about it. So far, it's just an idea. Hopefully you'll like it. Reviews are very much appreciated.**

**Happy reading**

**Chapter 1**

**THE NEW REGIMEN**

The night is dull, there's no breeze and the stars remain unseen upon the skies. There are no sounds, no lights, nothing but the passing of minutes that go by as silent as if they don't even exist. It feels like the world has stopped, sucked in its breath and just decided to watch as the tears that preferred never slipping, escape his blue eyes.

His breathe is slow and painful as he watches an empty television screen, as if he's waiting for it to tune alive and tell him that the past days haven't been real, that it's all a lie, that he doesn't have to fear for his family's sake, that she hasn't snapped, that she hasn't been arrested and locked away.

But the TV remains dead; the symbol of the New Capitol doesn't appear. President Paylor's face doesn't show. She will not speak reassuring words to him, to us; and his semblance never seemed darker.

"Dad?" a small voice breaks the silence, and his sad eyes, absent of the joy they have held since I can remember, fall upon Piper. "Dad, when can we go see mom?"

He doesn't answer right away. He glances back at the TV for a second and smiles sadly at my sister before he holds his hand out, asking her to approach him. I watch her take small steps toward him, her long dark brown hair falling messily along her back, her eyes, blue as his, redden by the tears that refuse to stop falling.

"I don't know, cupcake," he says as he rubs the back of his nineteen-year-old daughter, while she sits next to him, placing her head on his shoulder.

I watch them cry together for our absent mother and refuse to feel bothered by it. I will not cry; I'm not a baby. I'm strong, unlike Piper. So I turn my back to my broken family and mean to go back to bed, but his voice stops me.

"Kaleb?"

I look behind me to see my father's hand reaching out to me, wanting me to join them. I look coldly at his hand, then at his face and then at Piper's. I don't mumble a word; I just ignore the gesture and go back upstairs, where the nightmare that has been haunting me for days awaits me. That nightmare responsible for my broken family, responsible for the un-forgiveness I feel towards them; towards my father, towards Piper, towards my mother especially.

That same nightmare in which her grey eyes open wide after she realizes what she tried to do. A nightmare that I will gladly miss when a brand new one filled with revenge and guilt, replaces it.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"Yes,"

"Alright," I hear my father reply quietly as he shuffles around the living room, looking for his scarf.

I stare outside the window while a small, tanned boy in a blue bike makes his way through the wet pavement, rushing by our street throwing today's newspaper. The rolled up paper he throws last hits Haymitch's door with a dry thud and falls to the porch, where it is bound to stay all day. I watch the boy get on with his job and feel bothered by the normalcy of everything this horrid morning.

"Here," dad says just as I turn to go have breakfast with disdain polluting my brain.

I take the signed permission slip I was supposed to give my history teacher last week, when he gave us the piece of paper that requested our parents' permission to go on a field trip to District 2 today. I say nothing to the man handing me the paper and walk over to the kitchen, where Piper is finishing a cup of tea.

"You should come," my sister says softly, not looking away from her now empty mug, like she was embarrassed to say it looking at me in the eye.

"I'm not going to," I reply harshly just as our father walks in and stares at me from the door frame.

"She's your mother," he says patiently, most likely knowing that I'll say the same thing I always say whenever either one of them brings Katniss up.

"I don't care."

I watch him stare at the bruises on my neck, letting out a long sigh. He no longer cringes at the sight of the injuries she left behind, but I can tell that they will probably never stop bothering him, even after they are long gone.

We say nothing else to each other for the next few minutes. I eat my toast quietly, he sips his tea quietly and Piper just sits there… quietly as well.

It's been a week since Katniss was institutionalized for the psychotic episode that almost got me killed, and her being locked away seems to have created more tension between my family and me than the fact that she tried to kill me.

"You don't have to go to school today if you don't want to," dad says, his face calm and kind, as if my behavior for the past days wasn't enough to upset him.

"You don't have to go to the nut-house if you don't want to," I tell him back looking at him in the eye, not in the witty manner I've been using against him and Piper, not in the ungrateful and disrespectful tone I keep talking to him in, but in the tone a little boy uses when he asks in slight desperation if Santa Claus is real.

"Kal…"

"Good luck today, dad," I say rather coldly before I jump off my chair and walk out of the kitchen leaving an unfinished breakfast behind me.

I sprint upstairs and lock the door shut before sliding against it and sitting on the floor.

I stay there for a few minutes, unmoving, trying to think only of my own breathing until I hear ever so faintly the main door close behind my father and Piper. I stare at the blank wall in front of me, trying not to feel like the scumbag I've acting like lately.

I do not intend to harm my family with my words or actions. I don't want them to hurt, but I feel overwhelmingly confused at times, and I don't know how I'm supposed to get over what's happened.

I know my mother is sick, unstable and that she doesn't really want me dead. I know that a person with so many horrid scars, beyond the ones you can see, can't be held responsible for how they react to certain things. But I can't help but hurt at the thought that my own mother tried to kill me, regardless of how sick she may be.

I stand up after too many minutes died in silence and open the closet door to look for a scarf or anything to cover my neck. I would rather stay home than go to school, where most likely everyone knows what has happened. But if I stay I'll just think about it, and I don't really want to spend my day reliving the worst seconds in this short life of mine.

I take a blue scarf Piper gave me last Christmas from the rack and mean to put it on, but as soon as my eyes fall upon my reflection in the inside of the closet door, I stop dead.

The bruises look worse than what I imagined. I haven't looked at myself in the mirror since Katniss was taken away. I guess she did more harm than the first glance suggested.

I touch my fingertips to my bruised collarbone and feel like throwing up the three bites of toast I ate earlier. They don't hurt that much physically, but emotionally, they feel like a thick rope chocking me to death. It feels as if she had never moved her hands, as if no one ever stopped her; as if she was still clinging to my neck, crushing my bones with hers.

I don't think I'll ever understand what happened that night. I'll never know what upset her so that she felt the need to end my life.

The doctors say she'll regain her sanity sooner or later. According to Piper, who has been handling this whole affair rather well, maybe then I will be able to ask Katniss for a reason. I don't think I ever will, though. I don't want to see her again as long as I live.

I will never talk to her again. I will never see her the same way. And no matter what my father or Piper say, I will never forgive her.

They don't understand.

To Piper it's easy to pretend that Katniss' psychotic episode isn't as grave as it actually is. She will never understand the horrible, horrible feeling of being battered by your own mother. She doesn't know how it feels like to have the same hands that carried you when you couldn't walk, the same hands that patted your back when you accomplished something, the same hands that comforted you when you got hurt, wrapped around your neck trying to keep you from ever taking another breathe.

The thought of the woman, who gave me life, trying to take it away, is sickening beyond what words can describe.

My father, on the other hand, can only understand _her_.

He knows what's like to lose control over oneself. He knows what's like to hurt others without really meaning to. He knows, because he's done it. Because he too, once tried killing the woman he loved the most, when the old Capitol had hijacked his memories and turned him into a machine programmed to kill Katniss Everdeen.

Nevertheless, he knows what's like to be in her shoes, not mine. He wasn't the same kind of victim I am. He'll never know how difficult it is to get past it, or that at least to me, for now, seems simply impossible.

I close the closet door harshly, tired of watching my reflection look weak and fragile. There's no point in pondering about things that can't be taken away or undone, so I just grab my jacket and my bag from the floor and exit my room.

As I walk outside my house, I can't help feeling grateful towards the weather for giving us such a cold autumn. I tightened the scarf in charge of hiding the events of the past week and start walking through puddles to school.

"Hey," I suddenly hear just as I walk through the gates of Appalachia's secondary school.

"Hey, Nash," I greet a tanned boy as he swings one of his arms around my shoulders in the most carefree manner possible.

"Thought you weren't coming today."

"I have a field trip," is all I bothered saying.

"Nat told me 'bout that," he says "Still, I thought you'd lock yourself up after… you know."

I don't bother replying to that, after all, I don't owe Nash Dimllet anything but common courtesy. He's nothing close to a friend to me; he's just some kid who happens to be my girlfriend's younger brother. Although, sometimes, he seems to forget that and goes on and on about things he shouldn't really have an opinion on.

Like now.

"… because, you know, she's sick," he's saying just as I finally spot my history teacher while he calls out for my classmates to start getting onto the yellow bus that will take us to the train station.

"Talk to you later, Nash," I cut the kid off mid-sentence and hurry towards Mr. Treass.

"Oh, Mellark," the bald history teacher says in surprise as soon as I reach him. I think he wasn't expecting to see me today. "I thought you'd be sitting this one down."

"Why?" I know the reason he said that, but I still play dumb.

"Well…" he says, uncomfortably. "You never gave me your permission slip."

"Here it is," I hand him the piece of paper my dad signed earlier today, just as I start to feel people staring at me.

"Yes, yes," he says as his forehead begins to shine with sweat. The reason behind his nervousness I don't really know. "But I'm afraid there's no room in the bus for you."

I stare at him blankly, trying to think now of a way to get out of the school undetected. Maybe I shouldn't have come in the first place.

"London is not coming Mr. Treass," a sweet, small voice says then, by my left. "She called me this morning. She's sick."

Nat flashes our teacher a charming smile, with not a single drop of doubt. She then looks at me, flashes the same smile and winks.

She's probably lying.

"Oh," Mr. Treass sighs in relief, though I'm not sure why. "Well, then, I guess it's your lucky day, Mellark."

He then checks Natalie's name from the list of students that are going to the trip, writes something next to London's name and writes down mine at the bottom of the page.

As soon as he nods at us, Nat gets on the bus and I follow her suit. She takes my hand and intertwines her fingers with mine while she eyes the seats still available. We end up sitting at the back of an almost packed bus, while everyone already seated looks at me briefly before returning to their conversations or books.

I mean to ask Nat if London really called her, but I highly doubt she did. It'd be silly to think London Hawthorne would want to go on a fieldtrip to the same district she's from. She probably already knows everything there is to know about the military base we're visiting, since her father worked there for who knows how long.

I look out the window while Nat's hand still clutches mine. The bus has started to move already, and I can see the school move slowly past us. Some of the trees behind the building remind me of those lying in the woods, beyond the fence. London's probably out there, by some pond, either hunting or just avoiding people over all.

"How have you been?" Nat asks just as the bus starts gaining some speed.

"I'm fine," I reply, still glancing outside the window.

"You don't look fine," she says quietly, just as I turn to her. "I'm sorry; I won't ask anything if you don't want me to."

She looks at my scarf, most likely knowing that under it I hide some bruises, and I can tell she's not sure how to address the matter. But that's fine, had it happened to her, I wouldn't know what to tell or ask her either.

"It's alright," I say, smiling a little. "I am fine, though. They're fading away already."

She nods briefly and returns her almost black gaze to me before giving me a shy smile.

"How is she?" she asks a little more relaxed, leaning her head on my shoulder.

"Piper says she's better," I reply briefly. "She and dad are visiting her."

"I thought Piper was out of the country."

"She came back for the week," I say, noticing Nat's tanned hand is still in mine, and I don't know whether I want to let go or squeeze it tighter. "She's leaving sometime between today and tomorrow."

"How's your dad?" she asks a minute later.

"I'm not sure," I reply honestly. "I can never really tell what goes on in his head."

She doesn't ask anything else after that, and I'm grateful for it. I don't feel uncomfortable talking to Nat, but I am wary when it comes to what happened between Katniss and me. If I could avoid even thinking about it, I would, that's kind of the sole reason why I came to the fieldtrip today. Although, I'd be lying if I said that the chance of seeing Nat didn't cross my mind while I decided whether to come or not.

I look down at my shoulder, where her head still rests. Her eyes are closed and her breath is even. Her dark hair covers her face slightly and I try to put some of it away, but it keeps coming back.

Natalie Dimllet is not someone that catches everyone's attention. She doesn't wear extravagant clothing and her hair is rather plain compared to those extreme haircuts and colors that some girls use in other districts. She likes to wear little make-up and prefers the scent of soap over perfume. She looks quite old-fashioned and like the type of girl that doesn't have many opinions.

But she's probably the sweetest person I've ever met. She doesn't judge, and keeps things to herself to avoid hurting people's feelings. She smiles a lot and her voice is soft and calming. She's caring and, unlike everyone I know, she never cared who my parents are. She never expected anything out of me, and I like her for that.

I wouldn't go as far as to say that I love her, because I don't. I'm just a clueless seventeen year-old who knows nothing about life, let alone love. Nevertheless, I care for her like I care for no one else.

"Alright everyone, I ask you to get out in order and make a line near the bus, please," Mr. Treass suddenly says and I realize we just arrived at the train station. "I'll hand you your tickets then."

My classmates slowly get out of the bus with no order whatsoever, making the history teacher sigh in resignation. I wake Nat up and we get down. We make it to the now forming line Mr. Treass wanted and stand last.

There are very little people at the train station, since its Wednesday. Shipping is usually done on Mondays and if anyone ever wants to visit a district such as 12, they usually come on weekends. Not that District 12 is that bad. Things have gotten better in the past decades. Poverty has gone down substantially and there are other things to do than work on the mines, but the air is still sooty and we still are slightly behind in technology compared to the rest of Panem.

"Please, do not lose your tickets," Mr. Treass starts saying as I eye the station more thoroughly.

I know that my dad and Piper must have caught the early train to District 3, but I still feel like at any turn, either one of them will suddenly appear and they'll try to manipulate me into visiting Katniss.

But my paranoia goes unjustified and before I expect it, our train comes in sight.

The ride ends up rather uneventful, and apart from some more stares, longer than before, nothing is worth noting throughout the thirty minutes it takes the train to leave the station in 12 and arrive to District 2.

There's a lot more people here though, and it becomes much more difficult to stay within our group. Slowly I drift from everyone, being pushed and tossed by the mass of people at the station right after I step outside the train.

I shouldn't have let go of Nat's hand.

I can't see her or Mr. Treass. I really can't see anyone I can recognize, any face I could possibly know gets lost in the hurricane of colors and weird fashion statements that define the residents of the station. I try not to move much, in the hope that I'll be able to find my group as soon as the station clears out. If it ever does, that is.

I look around, meeting multicolored gazes and even though people here can't recognize me as a Mellark, I still hug my jacket closer to my body and wish I had worn a hoody instead.

To live secluded from most of the country was definitely the wisest decision my parents could have made. This whole ordeal would have been quite a disaster if my face had been printed on the papers more than once.

I try not to get paranoid and as I'm convincing myself that none of the people staring at me know who I really am, I get collided with and almost hit the ground.

"Oh," I hear a girl say, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

I turn to meet a girl that looked like she came out of one the fashion magazines that Piper likes to read. Her hair is really short on the sides, long at the top, blonde with a few strikes of pink. Her lip is pierced and she has a tattoo on her neck. She wears a leather jacket and torn jeans. Although her whole appearance is rather aggressive, she gives me a big smile and apologizes again.

"It's alright," I say, smiling back, though maybe not as wide.

"Kaleb!" I hear Nat call out and see her a few feet behind the girl.

She looks back and also spots Nat, and then she looks back at me, not smiling this time. She gives me this weird look, as if she's trying to find something on my face, but has no time to. I nod at her once and walk past her, to Nat.

"Are you alright?" I'm asked as soon as I take hold of Natalie's hand again.

"Yeah," I reply, looking back.

The girl isn't there anymore and I sigh in relief. I have seen that kind of face one too many times not to know what comes afterwards. Usually, I don't feel bothered when I'm recognized, but today I do. I don't want to be pointed at in such place, far from my home, especially since I've made headlines again for being almost murdered by 'The Mockingjay' herself.

I should have stayed home.

"Dimllet, over here!" I suddenly hear and catch Mr. Treass by the exit of the station.

Nat and I hurry to the glass doors and find our teacher and the rest of the class. Soon enough we get on another bus, much more sophisticated this time, and are taken to an old military base, away from the glass and steel train station, away from the girl with the blonde and pink hair.

A few minutes later, we approach a concrete and glass building that was used as a peacekeeper 'factory' called The Nut&Nut, back in the day when Snow was still President. It used to be secret, hidden and overshadowed by the district's main production. After the war and its destruction, the place was reconstructed and has been a museum since. It displays old commands and guns, a few pictures and deteriorated equipments.

We arrive at the building, and I can't help but feel uneasy. For a museum, the steel structure looks too severe, and I almost expect to see a formation of fifty strong marching out of the main gates. The base doesn't look that big from the outside though. I know for a fact that there are only two stories above the ground, and the rest lie beneath our feet. After all, this was a secret training center; it had to look as small as the typical brick factory.

As the bus stops in front of the main gates, Mr. Treass, once again, asks everyone to cooperate and exit the vehicle in order; which we all know, won't happen. The man should really consider start behaving strongly towards his students. It's because he's nice and comprehensive, that in times like this, nobody will listen to him.

I hop out after Nat and start walking towards the glass doors of the base along with my classmates. I hear Mr. Treass saying something about finding our tour guide and walking off through another door, where, apparently, we can't go.

I look around the foyer at all the guns and knives hanging in display, not really interested in any of them. I'm not sure why the school plans a trip to this place every year. We all know what happened; we all know it was terrible, we all know we should be grateful. So, is it really necessary to display all the weapons that tore the country apart; that killed thousands; that spilled the blood of more than those who died?

I walk around, slightly disgusted at the glorified weaponry around me and suddenly hear a very low humming, undetectable for those who don't have trained ears.

Katniss used to take me to the woods quite often when I was younger, while Piper spent the day at the bakery with dad. She taught me how to move through the wilds, how to hear, how to understand nature. Only a hunter, like me, would hear that humming.

I walk cautiously towards the sound. It seems to come from a small room at the left. I walk in to find a tall, lean podium right in the middle of the room, where a dark, sleek bow lays. The closer I step, the stronger the hum gets, as if it's calling out to someone, anyone that would save it from oblivion.

I reach out to the bow, but before I can lay a finger on it, the humming stops, and so do I.

"Did you know that bow was specially designed for Katniss Everdeen?"

"What?" I ask the voice that came out of nowhere and turn to find a pair of glasses that are too big for the face they frame.

The face belongs to a kid that doesn't look much older than me; in fact, he doesn't look that much older than Nash. He's tall, freckled and very thin, with shaggy auburn hair, styled of course, like every other common kid in this district. He's looks rather normal (except for the oversized glasses), with a striped shirt, plain jeans and sneakers not too different from mine.

"She killed a military named Coin over twenty years ago with it," the boy in glasses says, not bothered by the fact that he scared the hell out of me.

I step away from the bow just as he steps closer to it.

"I believe it was the last time it was used." He says as he eyes the weapon with admiration.

He didn't say anything I didn't already know.

I have known about that bow since I was ten, but I have never seen it. Katniss and my father told Piper and me it had been destroyed. I never expected to see it here, even less having a room for itself.

"Why is it here?" I ask the back of the boy, not really expecting an answer.

But the kid turns around with a small smile on his face. He looks like a poet who just found his muse.

"What?"

"Funny you ask that. Most people think it's normal that the bow remains in military hands, but it isn't," he then says, his smile a little bigger. "The engineer that designed it made it for her as a gift, not just a weapon. The military have no right of possession on it. _Technically_ Katniss Everdeen should have kept it, at least as a batch of honor after her discharge-"

"But she wasn't discharged," I reply, looking at the bow, almost hopping it would start humming again, before looking back at the kid.

My father and Katniss exiled themselves out after she killed Coin, they weren't given a ceremony or batches, they were just let go.

"No, she wasn't," he says narrowing his brown eyes at me. "How do you know that?"

There's slight suspicion in his voice, so I decide to be honest to a certain extend.

"I'm from District 12," I shrug.

"Do you know her?" he then asks, his voice no longer suspicious, but in awe. "Personally, I mean?"

"Not really, no," I reply after a few seconds, making sure he doesn't notice I'm lying.

Although to say that I'm lying, is not entirely accurate. I _knew_ Katniss Everdeen-Mellark; back she was my _mother_, not a fallen soldier with no control over herself as she is now. I don't really know her anymore.

"Oh, Mellark, I see you've met our guide," Mr. Treass' voice says from behind me and his hand lands on my shoulder. "Hello Tristan."

_Tristan_ doesn't acknowledge my history teacher right away, no; he stares at me in slight disbelief for a fraction of a second that, to me, seemed like an eternity.

"Mr. Treass," he then replies, shaking the bald man's hand and pretending something didn't just click in his brain. "If you would, please, follow me."

**.**

**.**

**.**

"How was your trip?" I hear near me, but pay no attention. "Kaleb?"

"Huh?"

My dad is watching me with a small frown on his face. I swallow the mouthful of potatoes I had stuffed myself with a few seconds ago, before I reply.

"Alright," I say casually. "We went to The Nut&Nut."

I watch my dad nod slightly before he too, went back to his dinner. His blue eyes settle on the TV screen and he says nothing else after that. I mean to say something more, but I come up short. I let my gaze fall on the screen as well, but I don't know what we are watching.

Ever since I saw it, I can't help thinking about Katniss' bow back in District 2. I keep wondering why it has been kept there and not destroyed as my parents believe it is. If they military never intended to get rid of it, why is it at a museum, of all places? It's humming means it still works, so why isn't it storied away at an actual military base then?

Also, does Tristan know it works? Because the way he spoke about it, seems as if he believed that the bow's glory days are over.

As I keep chewing who knows what, I think about that kid and the fact that he didn't out me. Well, it's not like there was anyone around to whom he could tell about me. The only people at the museum apart from him and a couple of guards were my classmates, who are perfectly aware of my identity.

Still, the kid didn't act surprised or tried to get me to talk to him again. He didn't stalk me with questions about my parents like most people who don't know them do. I guess I'm grateful to the kid for that.

I try to finish my dinner without thinking about my day anymore and soon realize that my dad is no longer in the living room. He's in the kitchen, cleaning up. I drink what's left of juice in my glass and turn the TV off.

"Do you need any help?"

"No, it's alright, son," he replies as he takes my plate from my hands.

I stand there, not knowing what to say. My father and I have never had much in common. I shared more interests with Katniss than with him. It's Piper the one that knows how to talk to him. And she left after they got back from the nut-house. So it's just him and I.

I watch him for a minute or two and wonder if he had a rough day. I don't know how to read his body language; I don't know how to read _him_ at all. Maybe I should ask about Katniss; if she's feeling any better, but I can't bring myself up to care.

"Citizens of Panem, I greet you," I suddenly hear from the living room.

I'm sure I turned the TV off.

I walk out, with my dad behind me and see the screen on. There's an old man, probably in his mid-forties, with silver blonde hair and pale blue eyes. He's wearing a military suit while he gives us a rather charming smile, as if he was a salesman charged with an offer you wouldn't want to reject.

"I am Commander Sundance, and from this night on, I will be your President," he says with a voice just as charming as his smile.

I walk slowly to the couch and sit, hypnotized by something I have never experienced before and notice my dad still standing far behind.

"Gee, that sounded slightly ridiculous. I must fire my speech assistant," the man says. "Allow me to elaborate, my fellow patriots."

I look back at my dad and see him pale, as if he has seen a ghost that arose from the dead and came back to haunt him as long as he remains alive. There's a mask of horror painting his face; horror I had only seen once, when he was much younger, during the last round of The Hunger Games that ever televised, in a recording I had been yelled at for watching.

"This is your current leader, President Paylor," the camera then turns to a woman with gray hair that sits on a red chair, before the man addresses just her. "How are you, darling?"

I see the Head of Panem give the man a cold, unwavering look and then notice what seem to be stitches holding her lips together. Then it all becomes clearer; I see her wrists tied to the chair, her hair ruffled and her clothes tainted with blood, and I refuse to wonder whose blood that is.

I have the feeling that won't matter for long.

"As I'm sure everybody knows, the woman I long ago knew as _Commander_ Paylor, took the presidency of our country by a random act of improvisation when the leader back then, died in the hands of a rotten minded teenager," the man says and his salesman manner no longer seems charming, but like that of a psychopath. "I, President Coin's faithful follower, Eustace Leon Sundance, will be replacing Commander Paylor as the head of Panem…"

He holds his hand out and an invisible person places a gun in it.

"From this…" he loads the gun with one single bullet. "Moment…" he removes the safe. "On."

He shoots President Paylor at the last word and I feel a lump on my throat and a painful need to throw up as soon as her blood splatters all over. I close my eyes and try to tell myself this isn't happening.

_Don't look at the blood. Don't look at the blood. Don't look at the blood. Don't_-

"Embrace the New Regimen."


	2. Seeking Redemption

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series; all you recognize belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

**A/N: Here's the second installment, hope you like it, and happy reading!**

**Chapter 2**

**SEEKING REDEMPTION**

They're here, fifty of them, the Peacekeepers, with their white uniforms and their loaded weapons, as if a bunch of frightened teenagers were threat enough for them to need to shoot.

I watch them walk in, sitting still on my bunk, not bothering to stand up in front of it like the rest of the kids I share shelter with. One of the Peacekeepers walks further than the white mass that suddenly stopped by the middle of the room that in previous years had been a public gymnasium, and that after the takeover, became a housing site for 'orphaned' children.

"Kaleb!"

I try to ignore Nash's fierce whisper, but he doesn't let me pretend to not have heard him, and as soon as the Head Peacekeeper's attention settles in a different direction, the fifteen-year-old takes two long strides from his bunk to mine and pulls me onto my feet. I don't bother to resist, since he would just get even more annoying, so I stand up, with my hands behind my back like a good boy.

The Head Peacekeeper takes off his mask in order to address us clearly. He looks much younger than you would expect from the maximum authority in a mass of 50 men. He doesn't look that much older than I am, I'd guess between 19 and 21. He has dark shaggy hair, pale skin, dark, almost black eyes and he looks like he hasn't shaved in a few days.

"Today Commander Sundance would like to address you and every citizen in District 12 via satellite," he starts with a rather charismatic voice, but I try not to pay him any attention and stare at the girl in front of me. She's crying. "We move out in five, so tie your shoe laces, tug your shirts in and try to look as decent as your sloppy selves can."

I watch the Head Peacekeeper with narrowed eyes once he's finished, while everyone around me comply with the jackass' commands.

We all have been given three white t-shirts, a pair of blue jeans and sneakers after we were taken into custody and stripped from our own clothes. So the bunch of _individuals_ I went to school with, no longer wear their opinions. No, they all look the same now, in washed out uniforms and frightened masks while they try to look _as decent as their sloppy selves can_.

I watch the ass in white go back to the formation of soldiers and start giving low instructions to a second in command. He points a few places of the square room that around a hundred kids have been sharing for the past month and a half, and then directs his glance at me.

His eyes stay on my face for a few seconds before pointing at a girl standing right next to the one I had been watching cry. She is as still as I am, with her oversized shirt un-tugged, her shoes unlaced and her jeans with more wrinkles than my own. She stands there, challenging those monkeys to do something, though just like me, she knows they have orders to not harm us.

Surely soon enough we'll be harming each other anyway, when another month passes, and we find ourselves stuck with each other and drowning in overwhelming desperation.

The Head Peacekeeper doesn't stare at the girl any longer that he had done me, and I can't tell what the staring and the pointing are supposed to mean. I look at the defiant girl, but her eyes don't leave the Peacekeeper's face. Her name is one I'll never forget, even if I try to.

London Hawthorne, daughter of Gale Hawthorne, the dead war hero, fallen victim of the first non-averted strike of the New Regimen. That's who she is.

She keeps staring at the uniformed men standing not too far from her, her green-golden eyes shining with a rage that most likely could only be compared to mine. Her dark, District 12 hair, cloaks her face in a shadow that I know too well.

I try to remember what she was like two months ago, before this all happened, before anger had taken over her. But before I can, people around me start moving into boys and girls lines, and I'm forced by Nash to follow suit.

The truth is, as contradicting as it may sound, even if her name is branded in my brain forever, I don't know London well enough to actually recall what she was like before. I have never been longer than an hour and a half in the same room with her before we all got stored in this decaying place. I have spoken to her twice, and I have only been spoken back once, though I said the same thing on both occasions: the first when she first got to District 12. We bumped into each other in the hallway on the first day of school four years ago. We both said 'I´m sorry' quietly and kept walking.

The second time is the reason why I'll never forget her name, or her face, or anything that I have ever learned about her, as little as it may be.

It was at her father's funeral, the night after all papers in District 12 were reporting him killed in a military drill gone wrong.

She had stayed at the back of the crowd throughout the entire ceremony, as if the empty casket being lowered to the ground in a solemn gesture to honor her father had nothing to do with her. Back then I wondered if her relationship with her dad had been that bad. People at school talked a lot about her when she came here. There were plenty of rumors going around about the reason she suddenly left the luxuries of District 2 for the sooty air of 12, but I never knew if any of them turned out to be true.

I had spent the whole two hours the ceremony lasted standing under a black umbrella that wasn't doing a very good job at keeping the suit I had to wear from getting wet. I watched Katniss battle inner conflicts only she knew how to describe, my dad frown constantly while his blue eyes traveled every now and then from the hole in the ground to my mother's hand holding his. Piper had spent the entire time watching London's aunt, Posy, I believe was called, cry uncontrollably with a pitiful look in her face.

After it was all over, and people were walking out of the cemetery, London cautiously approached her father's grave. I stayed behind, while my family walked ahead, too curious to look away.

I watched her stand there for a few minutes before she let go of her umbrella, letting the rain crash mercilessly against her head and shoulders. Not long after that, she kneeled to the ground next to her discarded umbrella, probably getting mud over her knees and dress. She stayed there for more than I can recall considering long enough for me to want to go back home. I tried, but a tug inside my stomach kept me in place. I sighed in resignation, and made myself walk over to her, to at least give her the umbrella back. Maybe thinking that she wasn't getting wet anymore would make me feel less guilty for leaving her there, most likely crying her eyes out.

But she wasn't crying.

She was just sitting on the dark, splashy mud, with her face cold as ice and both her hands curled into tight fists.

I never knew her well, I never stared for too long, I never bothered watching her face for longer than a second or two, but never had I seen her face so cold and still like it was that night. For a second, she didn't even look human. It had been deeply disturbing and too much for me to handle, so I mumbled a paused 'I'm sorry' and walked away.

We never spoke again after that. We would bump into each other and just nod apologetically. We would have a couple of classes together and even had to seat next to each other once, buy neither of us mumbled a word, she just had smiled at me briefly when she sat down next to me and that had been that. I glanced at her a few times in the past couple of years, maybe looking for a trace of that inhuman expression in her face, but I only caught her smiling at her friends or frowning slightly at a seemingly interesting book.

"What do you think Commander Sundance wants to tell us?" Nash's voice reaches my ears, and I come to realize we're just arriving at the old Reaping Court, where thirty five years ago the last Reaping for the long annihilated Hunger Games took place.

"We'll find out soon enough."

I don't bother elaborating for the tan skinned boy, but I have the suspicion that our location has a lot to do with what we're about to be told.

I walk along the rest of the kids that, just like me, have been forced to leave their families. We then make a formation that looks too organized to have been done by teenagers and wait. I stand at the back, with the rest of the boys my age and look around. Nash stands further away, closer to the stage that many years ago, was used to present a couple of tributes for the long gone Hunger Games. I spot London at the other side of the court, were the girls are. Nat's right beside her and I can see, even from the distance, her cheeks shine with tears.

I long to throw my 'good boy' act away and walk over to her, to try comfort her in some way, even if there's not much comfort left to give. But I don't do it. Instead, I watch London reach to hold Nat's hand and give her the sweetest smile I have ever seen in her, usually, cold face.

I blink twice and feel a tug inside I can't quite recognize.

London may not be a very social person, or even nice, but seeing her like this, trying to give some kind of support to someone I care for, makes me think that maybe she's not as cold as I have thought for so long. Maybe she's more human than I had given her credit for.

I sigh at the two girls holding hands and then turn to face the stage.

I have only been in this God forsaken place a few times in my life, when the weekends were too long and boring, and my friends dragged me out for a ball game. I look around again and see a barrier of Peacekeepers surrounding us. I feel this sudden need to run away, as if, deep inside, I knew that what we'll be told is something that will change my life forever.

Even if everything that has happened has changed me for good, already, I can't help feeling like the worst is yet to come.

Because we all have been taught what happened thirty five years ago; we all know about the rebels, the war and the victory; we've all been told what my mother did and what President Paylor had to do; we all believed it came to an end. But we were wrong.

It doesn't matter if the rebels, led by their precious Mockingjay, defeated their enemy. It no longer matters that they brought Snow down and with him, his inhumane regimen. Because there were bigger things to deal with, things that no one knew about, things Coin's death only made worse.

It has never been over.

You see, Coin had quite an agenda for a new era in Panem's government. She planned for better weaponry regulations, more supplies and better goods, better job opportunities and less poverty, which doesn't really sound that bad. However she also planned for more severe ways to keep people from violating any laws.

Rumor has it, bills for approving torture had been written, longer prison sentences were to be imposed regardless of the gravity of a crime, and even the death penalty for lesser crimes had been considered. Even if she banned the annual Hunger Games, she wasn't going to let those who had suppressed others, roam free of guilt and punishment.

She seemed to strive for a brighter future, but she wasn't willing to forgive the Capitol and the damage they had done, even if they were just acting like morons who agreed with the inhumane practices of one man because they didn't know any better.

We'll never know if all the things said were true or not, since Coin took an arrow to the head and Commander Paylor had to take over a country severely injured and in a desperate state of confusion.

Unlike me, my relatives and very little people other than the new President herself, Panem was blissfully unaware of how dark Coin's plans were, and how deep her hatred for Snow's regimen ran. I once over-heard my parents talk about the days that they never mentioned to neither Piper nor I. Apparently Coin planned to start anew with an act of cruelty not far from the Hunger Games themselves. She even asked for my parents' approval to capture 24 kids, all children of high authorities and Capitol officials, Snow's granddaughter included, to be forced into a battle to the death to pay for their parents' actions and decisions. I never knew if they had agreed or not; regardless, Paylor never announced such event.

Nevertheless a small group of officials, intelligence agents and military forces remained loyal to Coin. They decided to banish themselves from their positions and keep a low key for many years to come, before suddenly rising from the dead and advancing with the plans the late woman had traced since they had been forced to surrender to the Capitol. Slowly, they infiltrated into the New Capitol, made their numbers grow, and took small but sure steps toward the power Coin had dreamed of. Two months ago, they attacked.

They killed Paylor and all mayors around, regardless of their promises of loyalty or rebellion. They wiped away every figure of authority, no matter how small or afraid and set up a new arrangement of heads for the entire country of Panem overnight. They broadcasted their victory, their plans and their promise to change everything we knew, one awful sundown.

All districts were to surrender to them, The New Regimen, led by Commander Sundance. Any resistance was met with death, they spared no man, woman or child who dared speaking up to them. All war heroes, including my father, Haymitch, Johanna Mason and her family, the Odairs, even the remaining Hawthornes were all arrested in a matter of hours to prevent them from rising against the new President and his plans.

It didn't take much effort or time for Sundance to see District 12 wrapped in his iron fist. We held no resistance. We, just like the rest of Panem, were caught off guard. No one saw it coming. No one suspected anything. We only realized what was happening until it happened.

We never stood a chance.

Not ten seconds had passed after the New Regimen's symbol had tuned out from our TV set, when the Peacekeepers were already raiding Haymitch's house and banging on our door. My father only had time to run to me, hug me and tell me to try finding my sister before all the windows in the family room were blown up and a Peacekeeper sneaked up on us. They injected me with the cruelest of sedatives and I watched, completely paralyzed from head to toe, how the savages in white beat my father up and dragged him out the door unconscious and handcuffed. The last thing I remember before being kicked in the head and blacking out, was a Peacekeeper smiling like a mad man while he said:

'That's _nothing_ compared to what awaits _you_.'

After waking up at the Housing Site disoriented and still hurt, I learned that the first three days of the 'settlement' of the New Regimen saw two thousand kills throughout Panem, and from then on, the number grew at least by fifty each week.

By now, almost two months later, the country has no hope left and has raised the white flag. The New Regimen has us, and there's nothing we can do, but be herd like sheep into this massive, decaying yard and listen to Sundance announce what I believe is what Coin planned over thirty years ago; that cruel event that Paylor preferred burying into oblivion.

"Country of Panem, I greet you," I hear his voice louder than I ever expected, and see his face suddenly appear on multiple screens I hadn't noticed before over the stage. "I, Commander Sundance, have been waiting long to deliver the news I'm about to share with you."

His salesman-like face smiles quietly for a second of two. He's not wearing a military uniform anymore, but a dark navy suit that looks like it cost a lot more than all the t-shirts and jeans he's given around the country.

"President Coin believed in law and justice," he begins, with an enthusiasm that sickens me. "She believed in order and that everything had a place where it belonged to. She believed in real safety. She believed no crime should go unpunished."

His smiling face then is replaced by a frown that a bad actor would use when portraying sadness or some feeling of the sort.

"She had so many plans and hopes for you, your children and their children. Plans she will never fulfill, but that I will make sure do come to life," he keeps going. "You have gotten used to an outrageously unsafe way of life, that effective tomorrow, will change."

I don't have to look around to know that most of the kids around me are all wondering the same thing, but I don't care what will those changes be, all I care about is the consequences they will bring.

"The borders of each district will no longer be open for civilians that do not hold a traveling permission signed by yours truly," he says with a smile, but it doesn't touch his pale eyes. No, they look merciless. "Goods exchanges will be more thoroughly regulated and more Peacekeepers will be instated in each district."

Then, as if on cue, low conversations spring to life. Almost everyone at the court seems relieved that none of those changes had the word 'death' in their announcement. But I have read enough about politics and tricks to know that we'll be harmed anyway. More regulations and closed borders basically mean that we are all grounded to our residential district. That will bring not only a communication problem between districts but also a poor distribution of food, clothes or any kind of good. More peacekeepers mean most likely a curfew, and with that, unjustified violence against those who tempt the ones in white.

Sundance wants us trapped, like lab-rats, depending only in what we are given and told.

I feel bad for these stupid kids that think it could have been worse. They'll see though, in another month's time, they will wish they had been killed instead.

"I want to remind you that my only intention is to make your lives better, free of the dangers that come with too much unappreciated freedom." Sundance continues with his deceiving speech. "I'm sure you already know that I do not want to hurt you… But I will if I have to."

Every conversation dies right away after that.

"Humans are so complex, that not even we understand ourselves," he continues, and I feel disgusted at the existential angle of his speech. "We, with all our flaws and fears, our rage and our misused intelligence, need to be lead. That is the only way we can truly live," he smiles widely. "We must let someone guide us through life itself. That is what President Coin believed and that is what I strive for."

I wonder if he actually believes what he's saying or if it's just a mind-game to make us question our own liberty.

I must admit, the psychopath knows what he's doing. He knows that human beings are gullible at heart. He knows how to play us. He knows he has us in his hands.

"I will lead you, I will care for you, cherish you, protect you," he says as he smiles charmingly. "And make sure that those who have hurt you pay for their crimes."

As soon as the last sentence comes out of his mouth, I know what he'll say, what we have all been gathered to listen, and I hate to admit that I'm terrified of it.

"My family was from District 13, the district that the Capitol crushed into submission and hiding. I wasn't even born when the Dark Days devoured my home," he says, and no smile is drawn of his face this time round. "But I lived my entire life with the shadow of all the hurt the Capitol made my relatives suffer." He pauses for a few seconds, before resuming his speech. "I, just like you, also witnessed the Hunger Games, and although I was lucky for never being reaped, I saw my friends go in and never come back. I saw two of my siblings die horrendous deaths and I have never, and will never forget how much I wished it had been me instead of them."

There's not one sound around the court. I hold my breath, as I realize just how intelligent this man actually is.

His plan is brilliant.

_Tell us all you want is our well being. Convince us you're doing all this for our sake. Promise us protection and sympathy. And when we believe that you're really not that bad, ask us to slit our own throats and spill our own blood for your amusement._

"The Capitol has harmed us all, and it's time they face justice. So, as your President, my first act of leadership will be to select twelve young men and twelve young women, descendants of all those whom have hurt you in one way or another, to face each other to the death," he speaks out loud what I feared the most. "The Redemption Games will do justice at last. And the Capitol will finally know what it's like to be on the other side."

I can feel gasps around me, quiet sobs and low whimpers, but none of that matters. Because I have the feeling that I must run, escape somehow. I know I'm not from the Capitol, I know I'm not a descendant of the morons who supported the Hunger Games, yet I still feel vulnerable as if I had something to hide, to fear.

"I hope that you, my dear Panem, understand that this is for you," he keeps going, but I can barely hear him over the fearful exclamations around me. "I will give you your dignity back, and those who let you hurt for seventy five years, will not go unpunished."

The screens showing Sundance's face then go black, and I, along with every kid here, am left without any more information. We all stand in our spots expecting something, though I'm not sure what.

Some people stare at the stage, probably expecting to see a military with our names on a bowl, ready to pull a couple of us to carry on with the new President's requirements. But I don't think that'll happen. Even if during Paylor's government it became normal to move districts, I doubt there is anyone from the old Capitol here.

I look around and see the barrier of Peacekeepers unmoving. They won't let us out of the Reaping Court and I don't understand why. What are they waiting for? What are we supposed to do now? What do they want from us?

I notice people start to panic at the lack of instructions, they start to shuffle around and the formation we were in earlier gets lost in their desperation. Girls and boys get mixed up as kids search for their siblings and significant others. I look around, the collective angst claiming me as well, and try to find Piper.

I then remember she's not here, she's elsewhere, hopefully safe.

"Kaleb!" I hear Nat's voice, but I can't see her.

I search for her and her brother, but I can't spot them anywhere. Then, I can see green-golden eyes as clear as if I knew they had been there all along. I wave at London, hoping Nat is still clutching her hand. But as soon as I start walking towards her, someone grabs the girl from behind and she disappears from my sight.

"London!"

I try to make my way through panicking teenagers to the place I last saw London, but before I can make it, a club appears out of nowhere and I'm knocked to the ground. Feet trample me and as much as I fight to stand up, I fail time and time again. After a few desperate seconds, someone takes hold of me and pulls me to my feet. I look up to thank the boy or girl who helped me up. But I don't meet a face.

I meet a white mask.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"How many left?"

"These are all."

"Really? Well, that went better than expected."

I hear distant voices and try to put into some kind of context what they're saying. It proves to be much too difficult with the splitting pain I feel on my forehead.

"Hey, you two!" I hear a third voice shout from further away and footsteps getting closer. "Shut up and make sure they are all tied properly."

"Yes, sir," one of the first two voices says quickly and I feel a pair of hands pull roughly something that's binding my hands together.

I try my best not to open my eyes; letting the people who are abducting me think I'm still unconscious. For all I know, they might hit me again if they discover I'm awake. I'm pretty sure I have a concussion already, I don't need another one.

I hear them walk away from me, but not much further. I hear them drag what sounds like heavy loads all around me. Then, something falls over my left shoulder and I almost shrug away. I stay still, pretending I'm out cold, until their footsteps get lighter and I hear a door closed shot.

I take a quick peek through almost closed eyes and see a wall made out of steel with small windows at the top right in front of me. I move my eyes sideways ever so slightly searching for whomever that has me tied down and sitting on the floor of a cargo train, and realize they aren't in the wagon anymore.

I try sitting up straight but someone's head is leaning on my shoulder. I look down to find a mass of raven hair and the pale face of a boy that doesn't look much older than twelve or thirteen.

What is a twelve year old tied down next to me for? Where are these people taking us?

I look around, feeling a sudden panic for the kid beside me. But he's not the only one in the wagon with me that I should panic for.

There's at least twenty more people sitting around me, all tied down at their wrists and ankles. I glance at them quickly, not really knowing what to feel. I'm not sure if I want to see someone I know, so I feel less alone in this situation, or if I rather not knowing any of the people here; which would mean that the ones I care about aren't as deep in shit as I am. But I do recognize some of them, four to be precise.

Nash is the one furthest away, he's laying face against the floor and his bottom lip is bleeding. London is also in the wagon, sitting by the middle with her head falling limp against the back of a boy with short light brown hair. Beside the boy whose head still rest on my shoulder is Tristan, the kid who guided my history class two months ago. His glasses are heavily scratched and he has a cut on the side of his head. At my other side sit three girls, two dark skinned and a light blonde, all with bruised cheeks. There are other boys and girls with hair colors that go from blonde to really dark and skin tones of all sorts; and right in front of me lays the girl from the train station, with her blonde and pink hair dusty and tainted with what looks like dried blood.

I try to catch a breath I didn't know I had lost as I try to understand what all these people are doing here. I notice that none of them seem to be much older than me, and then I remember his words:

"_As your President, my first act of leadership will be to select twelve young men and twelve young women, descendants of all those whom have hurt you in one way or another, to face each other to the death"._

The realization hits me like a brick to the gut.

These kids are the New Regimen's sacrifices. Their death is what's supposed to give Panem redemption for every teenager killed in the hands of the old Capitol.

No, not their death. _Our_ death.

I don't understand. I'm not from the Capitol; I have nothing to do with it. I don't even look like them; despite my blonde hair, I have gray eyes, District 12 eyes. What the hell am I doing here? How on Earth do the Hunger Games justify my death?

_Katniss… _Of course.

I'm not dying because of the stupid people that found entertainment in the murder of 23 children a year. No, I'm dying because of the last arrow my mother shot with her bow. I'm dying for Sundance's personal vengeance. I'm dying for Coin's demise.

I have to find Piper. If they want to kill me, they will most likely want to kill her as well.

"Are you sure we should injected them before waking up?" I hear very softly before I can manage to move away from the kid and untie my wrists.

I close my eyes just as I hear the door of the wagon open up and more footsteps than before approach us all. I can feel the boy beside me being pulled away and I hope with all I have that they don't hurt him. They, I assume peacekeepers, move around here and there for a while talking loudly about what they wished Sundance would make us do.

They talk about the kind of weapons we'll be given, if we're given any to begin with. They speculate about how long the younger ones will last. They discuss whom they would like to kill themselves in case we, as a collective, decide not to murder one another. They laugh and joke around for what seems like an eternity and then, they just shut up and leave.

I wait for a minute or so, in case they decide to come back suddenly, but they don't. After the door of the wagon is shut, I can't hear any more voices or footsteps. I think they'll be gone for a while, so I dare to take another peek.

Not the wisest decision.

Next to the girl with pink hair, squats the very same peacekeeper that not long ago was ordering me, and the rest of the children I had been sharing shelter with back in District 12, out to the Reaping Court. His pale face is impassive and his black eyes don't leave mine. He stares at me for longer than I thought he would. I'm almost expecting him to smile like the mad-man that kicked me unconscious the night Sundance rose, but he doesn't. He doesn't mumble a word either, he just stays there watching me sweat and bleed out through my forehead.

I stare back at him, trying not to let fear show on my face. Whether I'm scared for my own life or for the ones of the kids around me, I don't know. I narrow my eyes at him and hope that the anger that I have been bottling up for the past couple of months comes across.

_If I could I'd kill you with my bare hands, you bastard._

He then, moves a hand to his pocket and takes out a large syringe. For a second I try to think of a way to avoid being injected with whatever sedative or poison that bluish liquid is, but my mind proves to be too naïve.

Before I can even get a hold of the ropes that tie my wrists, the peacekeeper's hand is already at my neck and the syringe deep within my skin. Just as fast as he injected me, everything becomes blurry and I can't tell were his eyes finish and his nose starts. I think he smiles slightly, though I have no way of knowing for sure, and before I know it, everything goes dark.


End file.
